


Violet Skies

by The_Word_Witch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: 1940s, 1940s Bucky Barnes, Bucky - Freeform, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, New Orleans, POV Bucky Barnes, Smut, Sweet/Hot, Witches, bucky barnes smut, bucky smut, fall - Freeform, sensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 11:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Word_Witch/pseuds/The_Word_Witch
Summary: When Bucky tries to get away from yet another moment of chaotic change he’s faced with a reminder that fate, sometimes, is kind to those that wait.(Written for @littledarlinhavefaithinme's Tumblr Challenge)





	Violet Skies

Bucky needed to get away.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the new friendships he was forming or the posh new digs he’d been granted courtesy of Pepper Pots and the Avenger’s Fund. He was deeply grateful. Even so, it was all so much so fast and he desperately needed to disappear to clear his head.

As he tears down highway mile after highway mile heading south, memories of another time when he needed the same freedom, fill his mind.

Unbeknownst to him, the summer of 1943 would change his life forever. In July they informed him that he was one of the best shots they’d seen in a while—he’d be an invaluable asset in the field. All Bucky heard was that they wanted him to be a killer. That knowledge sat like a brick in his gut for weeks.

When they gave him leave to return home for a stint in August he couldn’t bring himself to head straight back to Brooklyn. After all, how could he look his Ma in the eyes and tell her what they wanted him to do…

Instead, he’d done the same thing he was doing now. He ran south.

The New Orleans he pulled into would be different than the one he encountered all those decades ago. He knew time and the brutality of nature would have changed the city forever, but as he rode into the French Quarter he was pleasantly surprised to see so many things had remained the same—on the outside at least.

The last time he was in this city he had stayed in the cheapest hotel he could find. To say it was questionable would be giving it too much credit. This time, he decided he’d give himself the benefit of a decent stay. The Soniat House was central and nice, but it still had an older feel that soothed him. He liked knowing he wasn’t the oldest thing around.

It’s too early to check-in when his bike pulls up, Sunday morning. He didn’t have a plan, no sites he necessarily wanted to see and no memories he’d allow himself to seek out. All he wanted was peace. The easiest way for him to find that was to move, sitting still too much—especially alone—let his mind wander to things he’d prefer to forget for now. So, rather than linger in the lobby, he leaves his bike and heads into the Quarter on foot.

Despite it being fall the warmth and humidity are still heavy—he loves it, if he never had to be cold again in his life he’d be happy.

After a few blocks, he finds himself in Jackson Square, staring up at the beautiful facade of the St. Louis Cathedral. A steady stream of locals and tourists head into the sanctuary for Sunday morning mass. He can’t help but laugh at himself—once an altar boy.

He hadn’t stepped foot in a church since he’d been free. Some part of him felt unworthy, maybe even a little afraid. After everything recently he longed for something familiar though. With slight hesitation he joins the flow of people, taking a seat as far back as possible.

A few things were different in the ceremony but for the most part, the cadence was as he remembered. He ignored the automatic urge to take communion, watching others with just a touch of envy. Would he ever feel like he deserved to do such a thing again?

The homily was oddly fitting. The priest spoke on forgiveness—not the kind that comes from some benevolent being but the kind from within.

“We must all forgive ourselves, especially in the wake of The Blip, for the things we did to mourn, heal, and survive. After all, if our heavenly father can forgive us these things, who are we to stand in defiance of his wisdom?”

And who says God has forgiven any of us anything? Bucky thinks, bitterness filling his mouth.

When the service ends he tries to slip out without having to shake the Father’s hand. The size of the crowd prevented that though and he found himself face to face with the kindly man.

He grasps Bucky’s hand, a genuine smile on his face. “Thank you for your service soldier.”

Bucky’s heart kicks up, “How did you-”

The priest laughs a little, “You’ve got the look son. Have a blessed day.”

“Thank you, Father.” He forces a weak smile and heads away from the crowd.

An all too familiar restlessness had settled over him since the priest had clocked him for a soldier. It was the feeling that came over him before a mission, similar to the feeling that hangs in the air before a thunderstorm, itchy and electric. He hates it. 

Heading for the hotel once more he handles check-in. Since he rode his bike down he’d packed light but this also meant that settling in took not nearly long enough.

He showers, hoping the steaming hot water will wash away this feeling of anticipation but it does nothing. Staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror, tired eyes, grey dusted bread, long hair dripping with water, he comes to a decision.

With a plan in his mind, he changes quickly—slipping into a pair of dark slim denim, a black v-neck tee, and his light bomber jacket—sure it was warm but he’d rather not deal with the stares. 

It only takes him a few blocks to find an open barbershop. Swallowing his nerves he steps in.

In a little over an hour he stares, dumbfounded, at a reflection, he can’t quite connect to. This is a different man, someone who died in 1945 and couldn’t possibly be sitting here. This was the James Buchanan Barnes in the Smithsonian, the one in history books.

No, he says to himself, this is me. He still has his beard, albeit groomed, he’d never had a beard back then. The hair is similar, short on the sides and long on top.

This is me, he repeats. Like Sam said, he’s not either Sergeant Barnes or The Winter Soldier—he’s both, all the experiences, good and bad, coming together to make him who he is.

“You clean up real nice son,” the man, who couldn’t be more than 50 says with a smile.

He returns the smile, “This is all you, sir.” All while thinking, I’m likely old enough to be your grandfather.

Despite the man’s protest, he pays him three times the cost of the services plus a tip. What was the point of having money if you didn’t use it like this?

Some of the anxiety lifts after he walks from the shop. He feels lighter like he left something behind there to be swept up and tossed. The rest of the afternoon is spent eating, poking his head into a few shops, enjoying not having anything he feels he has to do.

Evening begins to fall as he watches the Mississippi from a bench in Woldenberg Park. There’s a touch of pleasant coolness to the breeze now, lifting some of the dense humidity he’d grown used to throughout the day.

He breathes in the air, curling his fingers behind his head as he leans his face up to the sky, eyes sliding shut. Being by the water always brought him a sense of peace.

It’s not that he’s tired but closing his eyes feels nice. Soon his muscles relax and he allows himself to doze just a bit. When he opens them once more the sun is just peeking above the horizon, a swatch of orange beneath a violet sky.

Instantly his mouth goes dry as a voice from the past whispers to him about another lifetime and a violet sky.

—

Sweat drips in rivulets down his back. The brass band chases away all other thoughts that could fill his mind. Cigarettes, whiskey, and the smell of the woman next to him fill every other sense.

He’d lost track of time. Was it day two or three? Was this the fifth gal he’d take back to his squalid digs? When did he have to leave? He had to leave right?

His head began to spin.

“James?” The woman next to him tugs on his sleeve. He doesn’t respond, unused as he is to hearing that name. “Hey, James?”

“Huh?” He looks down at her. “Sorry.”

“I don’t wanna bust your chops soldier but you’re lookin’ pretty sauced.”

“Guess I am,” he slams back the remains of the whiskey in his glass.

“Why don’t you take me back to your place then?” She coos the question against his ear. Her hands wander down his torso, grabbing his belt to tug him close.

This isn’t what he wants. Sure, she’s pretty enough but he’s too warm, too drunk, and too morose for this. He needs air.

“I hate to ditch a dame like you but,” he pushes her back, “I’m gonna have to call it a night.”

“What? Are you serious?” She looks so offended, he wished he cared.

“Yeah. Have a good night, Carol.”

“It’s Mary!” She yells to his back. He doesn’t acknowledge her as he makes his way through the crowd to the door.

Once outside he’d hoped for relief but in this southern climate, the sun being down didn’t do much of anything for the heat in August. He barely makes his way down the street before stumbling into an alley to relieve his stomach of the whiskey sloshing around in it.

“Fuck,” he groans pressing his forehead against the bricks. They’re barely cooler than his skin but it feels good none the less. He heaves once more before stumbling to the other side of the alley and collapsing.

A lump rises in his throat. He forces it down along with the nausea, cradling his face in his hands. Home. He needed to make his way home. But home meant facing the future…

“You doin’ alright down there?” A velveteen voice croons from somewhere above him.

With effort Bucky forces his eyes open locating the source of that sweet voice. A woman leans over the edge of the second-floor iron balcony of the building he just wretched on.

“Been better. Sorry.”

“Stay there,” she calls down before disappearing.

He very much wished he had the gumption to run and hide. But his dignity was just going to have to withstand this particular embarrassment because there was no way he was going anywhere fast.

In a few minutes, a woman steps onto the sidewalk. Once he gets an eyeful he feels a little soberer and a whole lot lousier. This wasn’t just some bland bird. The woman swaying toward him was, simply put, stunning. And she had undoubtedly just watched him hit bottom.

Excellent, he thinks.

“Here,” she kneels down holding out a glass that looks damp with condensation.

He does a double-take, unable for a moment to think about anything but caramel skin, freckles, full red lips, and the most fascinating eyes he’d ever seen. At a glance, they could be called grey but truly they were silver, rimmed with coal-black lashes and filled with tender concern. 

“I’m so-sorry ma’am,” he stutters trying to force himself up straighter. “I don’t mean to be a nuisance.” Right now he’s happy he could blame the whiskey and heat for his burning ears.

“You’re not a nuisance.” Her voice wasn’t exactly the predominant southern drawl he’d been hearing in the city. There was something else to it, softer, foreign even. “Drink this, it’s just water.”

“Thank you.” Gratefully he takes the glass, gulping down the contents with relief.

“Better?” He nods. “Good. Now,” she pulls the stopper off an unmarked bottle and hands it to him, “drink this. It’ll take the edge off.”

He eyes her suspiciously for a moment, searching for some kind of malice, as he takes the small bottle. Cautiously he sniffs it. The contents don’t smell bad, a mix of mint and a smell that made him remember summer lightning. Strange, but honestly he didn’t give a damn. Without any more hesitation he drinks it.

There’s a moment of zinging through his whole body and then… nothing. Not even the uncomfortable drunken haze remained. Yeah, he still felt a little intoxicated and his abdomen was a touch sore from vomiting but all in all his faculties seemed restored.

“What the hell is that?” He studies the bottle, looking for some kind of identifying mark. There’s only a little wax from where it had held the stopper and a slight greenish tint from the liquid that was once inside.

“Magic,” her voice sounds mischievous. He looks up at her and she winks.

Bucky laughs a little, “Well, whatever it was you could make a fortune selling it.”

“Maybe,” she stands, extending a hand to help him up. Once on his feet, he dusts his trousers off, more to buy time as he searches for something to say than thinking he could actually fix his rumpled appearance.

“Apologies for chucking up on your place here…” Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth. He chides himself.

The woman only laughs, “Oh this isn’t mine. I was just at some awful party. Really, you did me a favor by picking this spot to lose it.”

He grins, “Well, in that case, I guess we’re almost even.”

“Almost?”

“Let me buy you a drink and we can really be square.”

She raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the other side of the alley. “Haven’t you had enough booze?”

He shrugs, “You worked your magic. I’m ready for another round.”

Those fascinating eyes narrow then soften. “Alright. But you only get one magic potion a night so if you end up in another alley you’re stuck there.”

“Fair,” he flashes her a wide smile.

“Let me take this back inside,” she holds up the glass. “I’ll be right back.”

Without a word, she hustles into the building. Honestly, a part of him doesn’t expect that she’ll be back but in just a few minutes there she is, tucking one of her tight dark curls behind her ear as she heads out to meet him.

“Glad you came back,” he smiles at her as she approaches.

“What, think I’d run off?”

“Wasn’t sure if a lamb like you’d really wanna go grab a drink with a drunk you met in an alley.”

“How d’you know I’m such a lamb, huh?” Her eyes glint with the kind of moxie that really gets his temperature up.

“You did just come to my rescue back there,” he thumbs back to where he’d been sitting.

“That makes me a hero, not a lamb.” Multiple rings glint on her fingers as she sets her hands on her ample hips.

“True,” he concedes. “Ya know, I didn’t catch my savior’s name.”

She smiles, “Antoinette.” She pronounces it in the French style, the first syllable making a soft sound as it crosses those lips. “But you can call me Toni.” It’s beautiful, perfect for her.

“Pleasure to meet you, Toni,” he holds out his right hand. She takes it, soft skin sliding against his callouses, “I’m Bucky.”

“Pleasure,” she nods. “Come on, let’s get that drink.”

She takes a few confident strides forward as Bucky stares at her retreating form for a moment. The open back of her halter dress is as tantalizing as the sway of her hips.

“Damn,” he whispers under his breath.

Pausing she swings her head back, a broad grin on her lips, “I know it’s a fine view but it’s rude to keep a lady waitin’.”

Bucky laughs, “Must’ve left my manners with my dignity in the alley.” He catches up, taking her proffered arm.

The joint she leads them to doesn’t look like much of anything from the outside. There’s no street entrance, instead, they wind their way back through an overgrown courtyard and enter through a door that’s seen better days—in fact, Bucky was a little worried the thing was going to fall off the hinges when she swung it open.

As soon as they’re in, he hears low notes of a sax playing a smooth song. Down the dim hall, they follow the music until reaching an intricate wooden door guarded by a doorman.

“Wondered if we’d see you tonight Miss Toni,” the dark-skinned man flashes her a broad smile before giving Bucky the once over. “We do have a dress code ya know,” his tone far harsher than when he’d spoken to her.

Bucky’s not sure what to say. He looks like he’d been rode hard and hung up wet and he knows it.

“Oh come on, Cal. The Yanks havin’ a tough time is all. Make an exception for me?” She pats the man’s lapel, batting her eyes up at him.

“Fine, but only cuz that cure-all you gave my mama has her up an’ about again.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Her tone is sincere.

“But if the boss wants him out-”

“I’ll handle it, Cal. Thanks!” She grabs Bucky’s hand and pulls him into the bar.

Violet shades cover all the lamps, paired with the haze from the cigarettes the room has an ethereal glow. People murmur quietly around small tables and in cozy booths, not a one speaking so loud as to interrupt the lone man on the stage playing that sweet melancholy sound.

Bucky doesn’t even realize that she left his side, nor that he’s been watching the man play for so long until she taps his shoulder, two drinks in hand, and nods her head toward a back corner booth.

“Thought I was the one gettin’ the drinks,” he says as soon as they slide into the booth next to one another.

“You seemed to be enjoying the show, didn’t seem right to interrupt.” Toni sips her martini, a satisfied look crossing her features before continuing. “Besides, not like I paid for it.”

“Got another beau up there,” Bucky tosses her a grin and takes a sip of the whiskey. It was fine stuff.

“Hardly,” her eyes slide around the patrons, “bartender owes me several.”

“Seem to have a lot of people in your favor.”

Her shoulders lift in a shrug, eyes diverting to the olives in her glass.

Bucky decides it’s a sensitive topic and switches tracks. “What’s this about me bein’ a Yankee anyway?”

“You are, aren’t you?” Her gaze slides up to meet his, a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“What gave me away?”

“Oh come on,” her shoulder nudges his, “with that accent? How could you be anything else?”

“I don’t have an accent!” He plasters a look of mock offense on his face for emphasis.

“And neither do I,” she says with a snort.

“What is your accent anyway?”

“Creole. Don’t hear too much of it in the city these days.”

“Not from the city?”

“Not exactly.” Those shadows again. “Smoke?” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a cigarette case.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Bucky pulls his lighter out before she has a chance. “Let me,” he lifts the flame to her cigarette before his own.

She takes a drag. “The boy does have manners,” tendrils of smoke accenting her words further.

“A few. Don’t get your hopes up.”

On the stage, a small band has replaced the lone musician. Just a bass, drums, sax, and piano. More than enough though. They begin a slow but swinging tune that gets a few folks on their feet.

Bucky notices you watch them, a serene expression on her face.

“You happy just watchin’?” He asks as she finishes her drink.

Immediately she looks at him as though she forgot he was there for a moment. “I… yeah, usually. I… Well, I come here alone a lot.”

“That’s hard to believe.” He touches her fingers gently with his own as they both stamp out the remains of their smokes.

“On the house, Miss Toni,” the bartender says, depositing two identical drinks on the table.

“Thanks,” she smiles at the man.

“At this rate, I’m not gonna get to repay my debt.”

“I’m sure you can think of some other way to repay me.” She leans a little closer, moving her hand to slide her fingers between his.

“Hmm,” he hums, running his thumb across the surface of the rings on her fingers. Slowly, giving her time to pull away, he lifts her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles. Beneath the table his free hand sliding just above her knee.

Eyes locked on hers, lips still hovering over her hand he says, “Why don’t we start with a dance?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

As the two of them dance one, two, three dances the bar fills with patrons. He’s not sad for it. The more people on the dance floor the closer he could hold her, the more excuses he had to breathe in her intoxicating scent of woodsmoke, roses, and a spice he can’t name.

No one’s doing the Lindy here. Everyone is dancing slowly, moving to the rhythm of the music and their partner.

Sometime in the middle of the fourth song the two of them stop moving, save for a slow sway. Those eyes of hers drawing him in. He lowers his lips, catching hers. To his relief, she returns his affection.

Eagerly she pulls him from the dance floor and back to their secluded booth. The larger crowd makes this space feel even more private, hidden. He’s glad of it.

Bucky presses her back into the corner of the booth, kissing her hard. Those soft lips open to him and he tastes her, something sweet with a hint of gin and smoke.

With effort he pulls back, smirking at the little pout on her face. She wouldn’t be pouting long.

He slides close, lifting one of her shapely legs over his. He curls an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into him. With her cheek on his shoulder, his body angled just so, and the privacy afforded by the booth he trails his other hand up her skirt, sliding his fingers around her underwear.

When his thumb slides across her bud he can just make out the little gasp she releases over the music and the crowd. Steadily he strokes, her body reacts, hips pressing up, demanding more.

Toni lifts her face up to his eyes glassy with desire, and kisses him until a small moan trips over her tongue.

“Hush now doll,” he croons into her ear, “don’t want anyone to come ruin the fun.”

He can feel her breath quicken, feel her shudder a bit beneath him.

“You like that,” he nips a little at her ear. A hand flies to her mouth to catch the sound. “Thought so. Come on sweetheart.”

Just a little more and… She buries her face in his shoulder, hand gripping his shirt tight as she comes hard.

Bucky moves his hand, wrapping her trembling form in his arms. For some time he holds her like this, comfortable, and admittedly a little self-satisfied.

Suddenly he feels her hand grab him, fingers deftly caressing his cock through the fabric. His breath catches as he looks down at her smirking face.

She lifts her lips to his ear, applying just a touch of pressure, “You think that makes us even?” Her teeth sink into his ear lobe causing his hips to thrust up, pressing into her grip. “Nowhere close.”

In moments they’re in the courtyard. Bucky presses Antoinette against the crumbling brick wall, pinning her arms to her sides as he trails kisses down her neck and collarbones.

“Bucky,” she groans pulling at his restraint.

“Come to my place,” he says in a gravel tone after kissing his name from her lips.

“Bet mine’s closer.”

“Lead the way then,” he releases her.

The block to Toni’s digs takes several times longer than it should. Neither of them able to go more than a few feet without pausing to taste the other. There’s a moment when Bucky isn’t sure they’re going to make it to her place before having one another.

They do make it though.

Toni stops in front of a shop, the sign above the door reads: “Madame Antoinette’s: Palmistry, Cards, Assistance.”

“You’re a… fortune teller or somethin’?” He asks as they walk through the suspiciously unlocked door.

“Or somethin’.” She pulls him by the arm through the small waiting area lit by the street lights to a room filled with bottles, pouches, herbs, and other strange paraphernalia with one lamp glowing in the corner. The next room is clearly where she tells her fortunes, dark, save for one thick candle burning in a lantern.

Bucky freezes, an entirely new desire overtaking him.

When she takes a step to head out of the space all she manages is to stumble, anchored by his unmoving form. Confused she looks back to him.

“Did you wanna gawk at the decor or me?”

His gaze slides from the velvet covered road table to her face, trying his damnedest to keep his features and tone even. “Read my fortune.”

“No.” Her tone is final. Once more she pulls at him but he doesn’t budge.

His hand grips hers tighter before tugging her into his chest, “Come on.” He gives her what he hopes is a confident grin.

“I said no,” she pushes against his chest and takes a step back.

“Why not?” His brows knit.

Toni looks at the floor, at the table, and finally back to him. “I don’t tell soldier’s fortunes.”

“I didn’t-”

“You didn’t have to. I knew.”

He doesn’t want to know how. “So you’ll take a soldier to bed but not read his palm?”

“Because I know my bed holds nothing but good things,” she spits. “The fortune of a soldier is almost always bad news.”

Silence hangs, the air between them crackling. “Besides, if you need the cards to tell you what the product of war is maybe you should reconsider, soldier.” It’s his turn to look away.

She strides to the doorway they’d been heading for. “You coming or not?”

“Please,” his voice is thick with emotion. When he’s able to meet her gaze again he can feel the tears sting the backs of his eyes. Closing the distance between them he grabs her hands in his, immediately her expression softens. 

“Even if it’s bad. Please, Toni. I just… I gotta know.” He’s begging, likely losing any shot he has with her too, but it doesn’t matter. “I don’t even care if everything you tell me is bullshit. I just… I need somethin’…”

“It won’t be,” he cocks his head in confusion as her eyes drift to the table. “From me it won’t be bullshit. It will just… be.”

“Ok. I can take it. Better than not knowing.”

Subtly she shakes her head, pulling free from his grip and walking toward the candle. Bucky doesn’t move as she lights a thin stick, using it to light another white candle on the round table.

“Sit,” she commands. He does as he’s told.

Taking a deep breath Antoinette lays her hands on the table, palms up. “Give me your hands.”

He stares at her hands, suddenly nervous. “Don’t you need cards or-”

“Do you want this or not?” He nods. “Then give me your hands and shut up.”

When her hands close around his her eyes slide shut. For a few seconds everything seems normal but then he’s overcome with the strangest sensation-it’s like he’s floating and yet weighted down all at the same time, his whole body feeling the way a limb does after you’ve sat on it too long, numb yet tingling with sensation.

She releases his hands and he recoils instantly. When her eyes open he could swear that just for a second they were… glowing. It happened so fast he couldn’t be sure. What he was sure of was the steady stream of tears flowing down her freckle dusted cheeks.

“Tell me…”

Her voice is low, resonant, “You will become everything you fear. Ice will live in your veins. But only one hand will drip with blood, the other will remain snow white.” His breath leaves him. “But they will never know these things.”

Somehow he knows who she means—his family.

He almost doesn’t ask, almost doesn’t want to know… “Do… do I die… there?”

“No.”

“Oh, well… I guess that something right?” He tries to force a half-smile, he’s pretty sure it just looks like a grimace.

True sorrow filler her eyes before she has to look away from him. “There are far worse fates in this world than death, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky tries, he really does, to keep it together, to be a man. He’s not strong enough though, not for this. The sob bursts from his lips before he can stop it. Desperately he covers his mouth as if he could put it back.

Before he can protest his face is enveloped in the soft black fabric of her skirt, one hand holding his face against her abdomen, the other wrapped around him. He doesn’t resist, flinging his arms around her allowing the tears to take him.

Toni’s soft hands pull his face up to look at her once his sobs quiet a touch, “Come upstairs, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry, Toni, but I don’t think-”

“Shh,” she slides a finger over his lips. “Trust me. Please.”

Stepping back she grips his shoulders, guiding him up from the chair. In a haze of emotion he follows her blindly out of the room and up a narrow staircase. It opens into a large open room with windows and balconies on both ends.

Past a screen toward the back balcony is a large, brass fourposter bed. Beside it she stops, fingers making quick work of his shirt buttons, sliding the garment off his shoulders and pulling his undershirt over his head. He doesn’t stop her when they wander to his trousers. In moments he’s in nothing but his shorts.

Wordlessly she unties the neck of her dress, letting it fall to reveal her chest as she unzips her skirt. In another situation he’d never be able to resist those curves, but right now, how good he’d feel between her thighs is the furthest thing from his mind.

She removes her underwear and steps past him, climbing into the unmade bed. Turning he sees open arms beckoning him to join. Understanding dawns along with an immense wave of gratitude.

He makes his way into her bed, glad to press his back into her soft warmth, allowing her to hold him tight.

Toni presses gentle kisses against his left shoulder and begins to hum a pretty, soothing song. The melody accompanied by the soft whirr of an unseen fan and her reassuring presence soon rock Bucky into a deep, dreamless, sleep.

Soft morning light filters through the lace curtains casting intricate shadows on her sleeping form. One arm is curled tight against her chest while the other is tucked under her pillow. Through lids still heavy with sleep Bucky takes in the features of her serene face.

A mahogany curl lies over her closed eyes. Ever so carefully he tucks it back into the red-brown mass splayed across her pillow. Despite his best efforts, her brows knit for a split second before her lids slide open to reveal those silvery eyes. They remind him of full moons.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he lets his finger trace the line of her high cheekbone. Her lips curl softly in response, reaching one and caressing his rough cheek in kind.

Closing the small space between them in one motion, Bucky kisses her tenderly. Turning her body to fully face him she returns his affection. He runs a hand down her side and around her back pulling her close against him, the warmth of her body making him ache.

She slides a hand between them, lightly scratching her nails down his chest and abdomen. When she reaches his hips she grips him, pushing him to his back as she rises to her knees.

He doesn’t resist her—deft fingers coaxing his shorts off before studying the planes of his abdomen, the curve of his hips, the tense muscles of his thighs. Not once though does she touch the one place on his body that is begging for it. Each touch elsewhere causes his cock to jerk painfully, desperate for contact.

Lips curled into a coy smile she leans over him, the tips of her breasts barely touching his chest. Lowering herself, she presses her body against him. He ruts against her, the soft flesh of her abdomen driving him wild.

She lets out a low purr, close to a laugh, “Patience.”

With her mouth teasing the tender flesh of his neck he lifts his hands to feel the curve of her spine down to her ass. Gripping the supple flesh there he tries to lift her, wanting to take her now. She reaches back, grabbing his wrists. Compliant, he allows her to pull them away, pinning them by his head.

Bucky had been with other women in the past. Never had he found himself in this position—he was utterly besotted.

When she covers his mouth with hers, he can’t help but groan with desire. Her lower body shifts thighs lifting to flank his.

Rising onto her knees the light shines on a bit of moisture on her stomach. A tiny touch of embarrassment rises in him but is obliterated when she catches it with her middle and ring fingers, brings them to her lips, and slowly sucks them clean. He can’t even breathe.

Those same fingers descend the length of her body and slide between her legs. Her lashes flutter, hips rising to her own touch. She removes them, glistening.

Before she can stop him he takes her wrist, drawing her hand to his mouth. Much as she had done, he tastes her, his tongue flicking the tips of her fingers. He holds her eyes with his, watching them widen as her breath hitches.

Toni leans down to him once more, shifting her hips forward. This kiss is unlike anything else he’s ever felt—he buries his fingers in her hair, not wanting her to stop, not wanting the humming in his chest to stop.

He can feel the heat of her hovering just above him. His cock twitches up and just barely touches the soft hair.

Lips still locked together, she reaches back to guide him into her.

Bucky thrusts up, the warm tight feeling of her sending tremors through his body. Their eyes open when he does so both frozen mid-kiss, breathless from the feeling of being joined like this.

Neither move at first. The connection somehow enough to satisfy for a time.

Untangling his fingers from her curls he grips her thighs. With a fluid swoop she rises, holding her hair back with one hand. Never looking from him she begins a steady rolling motion with her hips. He’s slack jawed with the feeling, unable to fathom anything better than this.

She runs her hands down to her breasts, taking her dark pink nipples between her fingers as he pushes himself deeper inside of her. He releases one of her thighs, wanting nothing more than to make her feel as good as he does.

As his thumb moves over her clit her head falls back, a dark moan filling the room. Her body arches, one arm braced behind her back the other holding onto his forearm, silently begging him not to stop.

“Bucky,” she whispers, tongue thick. Her hips move into a faster pace.

When her orgasm crashes into her he sits up, twining his arms around her back to bring her shaking body closer to his. Toni lifts herself just enough to wrap her legs around him, allowing him to push deeper within her.

As he moves slowly, his fingertips trace goosebumps on her spine, the feeling that they’re one being is otherworldly.

This is what it should feel like, he thinks, what it should always feel like, like magic.

“What are you?” He whispers, feeling her walls tighten around him.

“Yours,” she responds.

That’s all it takes to tip him over the edge.

His fingers grip her ass, pushing their pace a bit faster. She braces herself against his shoulders.

“Antoinette,” he breathes, unable to make another word rise to his lips, unable to ask. 

“Yes,” she answers his unspoken question.

His whole body tenses, brows knit, a low groan rumbles from deep within him as his muscles release. With a need he can’t quite name his mouth seeks hers again before they fall—panting, sweat sparkling on their skin—back into the embrace of the bed.

“You don’t have to go, not yet,” she says as her fingers absently run through the hair on his chest. Rising on an elbow she turns those bewitching eyes on him, “Just stay until tomorrow at least.”

He tries not to dwell on how she knew where his thoughts were without him saying a damn thing. The truth was he didn’t want to go.

“Ok, tomorrow,” he agrees before catching her lips with his.

Tomorrow turned into another tomorrow and before he knew it he’d been falling asleep in Antoinette’s bed for four nights.

In truth, it was all a sweet blur. Languid days spent exploring New Orleans by her side. She’d tell animated stories of the city as they walked—painting such a vivid portrait of events and people from decades prior that if he didn’t know better he’d think she lived it.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile as folks from all walks would stop them to thank her for some cure she’d provided, some guidance she’d offered. Without hesitation she’d stop anything she was doing if someone made a request of her. More than once someone had whispered how lucky he was to be in her company as if he could somehow be unaware.

He’d seen people in his life who wore their goodness like a badge of honor, something they hoped people would laud them for. Not her. It was just who she was. Each time he was reminded of this it also served to remind him that she’d never be his, not really. He wasn’t destined for such goodness.

When the sun lowered beneath the river they danced in clubs he’d never have found otherwise. Drank in music, and liquor, and each other like they’d have all the time in the world to do so.

Now, he lays in her bed, studying the curves of her body through the open French doors, unable to fathom how he’d just had her and yet his body is already begging for more.

The new moon kept the sky dark and little light from the city touched the back balcony—even so, her caramel skin seemed creamy, almost luminescent.

He rolls from the comfortable confines of her bed, padding out to join her. Without hesitation, she leans her body into his as he comes up behind her. Plucking the cigarette from her fingers, he takes a deep drag, his free hand caressing the soft skin of her abdomen.

“Tomorrow,” she sighs, her head falling back onto his shoulder to be able to see his face. “You’ll leave tomorrow.”

He had decided to do so earlier that day, he just hadn’t known how to tell her. “Yeah.” She nods in acknowledgment, turning her gaze back to the summer night, twining her fingers tightly around his.

They make love slowly almost reverently the next morning. He doesn’t want to forget a single thing about her.

As he sits on the edge of the bed his stomach flops over at the thought of getting on the train that evening. He rests an elbow on his thigh, leaning over to cradle his head in his hands.

“Don’t go.” Her tone is suddenly frantic as she turns him back to face her, sitting on her knees in the middle of the mattress.

“I have to Toni,” he shifts his body to be more squarely on the bed. “I gotta see my family before…” He can’t manage to finish the statement.

“But you don’t have to go. Not to Europe.” She grabs his hands, gripping them with all her might. “We could run. I have enough money tp go-”

“Where would we run, Toni. The whole damn world is-”

“Not the whole world! We could go to Mexico City. Or maybe Saint Domingue, live on the beach, spend every day in the water…” Her fingers trace the outlines of his face, “Please. Don’t go. Don’t… you don’t have to…” He knows what she can’t bring herself to say.

“I’d be yours you know. I’d say yes.” The twin moons of her eyes are huge, imploring, tempting. Tenderly he takes her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles, shaking his head.

“You deserve someone much better than me, Toni.” Someone better than what I’ll become…

“Don’t assume you know what I deserve,” shadows darken her expression. “You’re a good man, Bucky, you deserve better than what you believe, better than what fate has given you.” Her hand covers his heart before her eyes squeeze closed as if in pain. He feels that same tingling as he had when she’d told his fortune.

“Toni?” His tone drips with concern.

When she looks back to him her eyes brim with tears. “Please,” she says once more.

“I can’t darlin’. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I went AWOL. I got a duty and I’m gonna do it.”

“Then promise me something,” she takes his hands in hers.

“Anything, Antoinette, anything.” He means it.

“Remember, they can’t take this from you,” her fingers poke above his heart. “Nothing they do, nothing, will stop you from being James Barnes in here.”

“I’ll remember…” He kisses her softly. “I promise.” Even if he doesn’t believe her.

Even though he has to leave soon he can’t resist pulling her to the bed again.

Just one more time, one more and leaving will be easier, he tells himself.

He’s wrong.

Just before evening they stand outside the train station, holding on to one another so tight it almost hurts.

“It’s not too late,” she says against his lips after another hard kiss, “you can change your mind.”

He just shakes his head, smiling sadly.

Under the light of sunset, she’s radiant. The orange’s picking up the red in her hair and the warmth of her skin. He’d never meet someone like her again.

There’s something he needs to know, even if it’s not an answer he wants.

“Will I ever see you again?” Speaking the question aloud makes his heart constrict. Her gaze is distant, as she seems to look through him, the tingle beneath his skin there again.

Toni looks up and the sky, voice far away, “Under another violet sky, in another lifetime, our paths will cross again.”

“I’ll look forward to that lifetime then,” because clearly it would be better than this one. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

An announcement cuts him to the bone. Final boarding.

She grabs his face in her strong but delicate hands, the metal from her rings pressing to his skin. “I will never forget you, Bucky Barnes.”

“I won’t forget you either.” She looks away as if in doubt. He decides one final kiss will convince her. “I won’t.” He stares into her eyes, willing her to believe him.

“Until the next time.” He’s relieved she didn’t say goodbye, there were too many goodbyes coming for him. She kisses him once more releasing him.

“Next time,” he nods and runs to catch the train.

Once in his seat he looks out the window seeing her. He slides the window open.

“Don’t forget your promise!” She yells up.

“I won’t, Antoinette. I swear!”

He watches the tears slide down her face until she’s out of sight… forever.

-

A tear slides out of the corner of his eye before he can catch it.

He’d broken every promise he made to her. They took his heart, they took her. When he’d come down here, she wasn’t even on his mind. Hell, had he even remembered those extraordinary five days with Antoinette until now?

He doubles over on the bench, arms wrapped around him.

Memories were a double-edged sword. They connected him to who he was, who he’d been before, but fuck they tore at his soul in a way that made him long for nothingness again.

Here was someone else to mourn, someone else to ache for. She was probably resting in one of New Orleans’ elaborate cemeteries now, next to whatever man got lucky enough to hear her say yes.

Maybe he’d find her. Bring flowers, say he was sorry…

Her home had been in the Quarter, he could find that easier, faster, than a grave. It was as good a place to start as any.

Hands shoved in his jacket pockets he begins to walk in a direction that feels right, eyes glued to the sidewalk. Looking at the sky just made the ache worse, made her sweet voice ring in his ears again.

Turning a corner, not paying attention to anything but putting one foot in front of the other, he careens into someone.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” He hustles to grab a can of coffee rolling toward the street.

“It’s ok,” a soft voice says. “My mind was a world away.”

The coffee can’s metal body creaks a bit as his left hand closes a little too tightly around it. Slowly he turns to see a mass of mahogany curls and ring covered fingers gathering the other fallen groceries into a reusable bag.

Every bit of breath is sucked from his lungs when twin moons look up at him. He staggers back like he’s been struck.

“An - Antoinette,” he stammers.

A massive smile lights her face, “I told you our paths would cross under a violet sky, didn’t I?” His jaw hangs open, eyes blinking rapidly trying to clear her from his vision, as she steps toward him. She grabs the coffee can from his grip before he breaks it.

“Trying to catch flies, Bucky?” One bejeweled finger lifts his chin.

There are a million things running through his mind as he tries to make sense of this—but nothing will come out.

She turns, “Come on, my place isn’t far.” Before she walks forward she throws a smile his way and gives him a wink.

Of their own volition his feet trudge after her.

It’s the same building he remembers but the sign advertising fortunes is gone. Instead it seems the bottom shop is a specialty bookseller. Patronage by Appointment Only read the letters on the still unlocked door.

His head spins as he follows her through the strangely familiar yet different space and up the back stairs.

Her living space was still open and airy though it now sported a proper small kitchen close to the front. And when he looked toward the back he saw the light glint on a familiar brass bed frame.

“Coffee?” Toni asks, as though this is just a normal thing.

He stares at her for a minute, stuck at the top of the stairs, as she moves about the kitchen. She sets a brass kettle on the island burner and pulls a French press from the open shelves. After scooping coffee into the container she finally looks at him.

“Did you like chicory? I don’t remember.”

“I,” his voice cracks. He clears his throat, “I don’t remember either, honestly.” Trance like he makes his way to the small round table close to the front balcony, collapsing into the wooden chair.

“It’s good. I promise.” The kettle screeches. She pours water into the press.

When she sets it on the table she doesn’t look at him. She turns back to the kitchen. He can’t stand it. His left-hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist with cool metal fingers. Languidly she looks back at him, meeting his eyes full on.

“Is this real?” Bucky knew that dreams could feel as real as anything. The terror that this is a hallucination grips him. Toni’s expression is soft as silk as she gently touches the side of his face, he fights to keep his eyes from closing at how good it feels to be touched like this.

“I am very real, Bucky.”

Despite how insane this is he believes her—knows she’s telling the truth, that he’s here, she’s here, this is real. He releases her wrist and she unflinchingly takes his left hand for just a moment before heading into the kitchen for mugs and cream.

She sits across from him, sliding a mug over, “That needs a few more minutes. Worth the wait though.”

Coffee is the furthest thing from his mind.

“How… how are you still alive?”

A smirk makes her eyes sparkle a bit. “Well, technically the Antoinette Desmarais you knew is dead.”

“Oh?” He laughs a little at the ridiculousness of this whole thing, “So… How long have you been dead?”

Her smirk turns to a smile, “Roughly 70 years.”

“Damn,” he forks his fingers through his hair. “Guess I missed the funeral then. Wouldda sent flowers but, pretty sure I was technically dead then too.”

She shrugs, “It was a small private affair. Most of my funerals are.”

“Had more than one?”

“A few,” she presses down the plunger on the French press before pouring the coffee. “That was my second. Had my third in ’96.” He watches her put a splash of cream in her coffee, normally he took it black but he follows her lead.

“The government gets a little suspicious if you just keep goin’. But if you die and leave your estate to your namesake, well, that’s fine.” She sips her coffee, “Guess you don’t have to worry about that though.”

“Nah,” he tastes his own cup, remembering that he did like this unique flavor back then. “For better or worse they’re pretty damn aware of me.”

Silence hangs for a few moments before he can’t bear it any more. “You didn’t answer my question, Toni… How?”

“Would, ‘I’m a witch,’ be sufficient enough?” She looks up at him through her thick dark lashes. He narrows his eyes, she sighs, “Didn’t think so.”

“Long story short… I was young, stupid, had power, thought I could do anything I wanted…” Her shoulders hunch forward, eyes on the coffee in her cup. “I… I went too far. Crossed a line. Someone came to stop me and I… I killed him.”

Bucky studies her, unable to imagine her doing harm to anyone.

“Just so happened he had a lover, someone far more powerful than me.” She shields her eyes a bit, cradling her forehead, “Bit of life advice, don’t piss off an ancient powerful sorceress, never ends well.” Leaning back, she tries to force something like a smile.

When he doesn’t speak she continues, “She punished me. In a way that, at the time seemed like a gift-”

“Immortality,” Bucky says in barely a whisper. He remembers the fortune she told, that there were worse fates than death. She would have known.

“No,” she shakes her head, “immortality is—well that costs far more than I was worth to her, no she cursed me with life. A long, long life. I called her a fool, a bald hag–childish nonsense. But… well, I guess you’ve discovered for yourself.”

Tears sparkle in her eyes when she looks back to him, “There are few things more painful than to watch everything and everyone you’ve known and loved die.”

“I didn’t watch,” he slides his right hand over hers, “but I do understand.” That’s why he’d ran down here, the weight of loss was too much.

Her fingers slide through his and for a time they stay like that, linked across the table, across decades, sharing an experience few would understand. It would have been enough to sustain him through another lifetime he thought.

“You’re taking this all rather well,” she lifts a perfectly shaped brow at him.

“A few months ago I woke up face down in the dirt to a wizard telling me that somehow five years had passed and that I needed to go through a glowing portal to help save the world again…” He chugs the remains of his coffee. “I also met a talking raccoon and tree. So… yeah… I’ll roll with just about anything after that.”

She laughs, “Well, I’m glad you had a primer on weird before we met again.”

He lets out a small laugh too, he left out meeting a god and the million other small things that still felt unreal to him in daily life.

“How long?” He asks sliding his thumb over the rough surface of her rings.

“Lose your manners again? It’s rude to ask a lady her age.” She smiles at him before finishing her coffee. “I was born here in 1821, one month to the day after Napoleon died.”

“So when we met you were…”

“‘Bout 120? Yeah.” She pours more coffee into her cup, releasing his hand, “Close enough to your age now I bet.” He nods.

“And you’re still here…” He motions around the space.

“Well, I wasn’t born here-here. I was born in New Orleans though. And I didn’t stay here the whole time, I just come back home when I need something-”

“Familiar,” he finishes the thought, knowing the feeling far too well.

“Yeah. The city changes but the Quarter, she’s kinda like me—we get older, get get a little rough around the edges, a little worn down, but we’re still standin’.” Toni’s expression is almost wistful.

As her expression is focused out the French doors, Bucky argues with himself. He’d gotten off that bench earlier with the intention to apologize to dust and bones because he thought he owed her that. Now here she was, as beautiful and alive as the day he met her, and the thought of admitting his failure seemed impossible.

“Don’t,” she says in a voice like velvet. He stares into her knowing eyes. “You don’t owe me a goddamn thing Bucky Barnes.”

He shakes his head, “I do though. I broke my promise.”

“No,” she sets her cup down, grabbing both his hands fiercely, “you didn’t.”

Weakly he tries to pull back but she won’t let him. “Antoinette… I… If you only knew what I’ve—I forgot you, forgot…” he pulls one hand free to point at his heart, “Forgot this.”

“No,” she says again, “you didn’t. If you did you wouldn’t be here.” He looks away, unable to find the words to tell her just how wrong she is.

She sighs, “You do know I have the internet, right? I may be over 200 but I’m not dead.” He looks back, confused.

“James Buchanan Barnes fell from a train in 1945, was presumed dead. After the events at the Triskellion, he’s now known as the longest-serving POW in history, forced to take the mantle of the Winter Soldier and commit heinous crimes in the name of his captors.”

His stomach drops. Faster than any normal man could manage he shoots from the chair, sending it screeching back. Unable to leave her yet though, he leans his head against the frame of the French door, attempting to breathe.

Almost soundlessly she comes up behind him, placing a soothing hand on his lower back. He flinches at the gesture.

“But you fought back,” she takes a shaky breath. “If they had taken your heart you’d still be The Winter Soldier, but no, Bucky Barnes is standing right here in my kitchen. Because you kept a promise you made all those years ago, to a woman you hardly knew.”

“You don’t know,” is all he can manage without breaking.

“I do.” She lifts a hand to cup his cheek, turning him to face her. “I didn’t see exactly what would happen to you, prophecy is never that simple nor clear, but I felt the void, the despair, the cold. I felt it then and I can see the scars in your heart now.”

He covers her hand with his, eyes closing. “I shouldda gone with you. Should of listened.”

“Yeah,” she huffs out a dry laugh, their clasped hands lowering, “lived out your days on a beach, peacefully. But fate will have what she wants, I knew it couldn’t be.”

Something occurs to him, “You said you’d say yes then. But…” She looks like she’s hardly aged, “You would have stayed the same and I’d be…”

“Dead? Likely so.” Her smile is tender, “But living one lifetime with you would have been worth the pain of lettin’ go I think.” He shakes his head, eyes sliding shut, unable to fully comprehend why he’d be worth that.

“And for what it’s worth. No one said that offer had an expiration date.”

“What?!” His eyes shoot open in disbelief.

Toni’s rich laugh fills the room, “Mexico City is still there, there’s plenty of beautiful beaches around the world to see too.” She presses close to him, “And, it’s a little old fashioned but… I believe I would still say yes to this,” she points at his heart just as she’d done before.

Bucky’s chest constricts. Without thinking he cradles her face in his hands and kisses her. She tastes like coffee and memories, her scent of roses and wood smoke and spice filling his nostrils. Her body melts into his, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him back with just as much intensity.

He breaks the connection, pushing her back just enough to look into her face.

“Antoinette, there are things…” how can he tell her all the reasons she should run, all the reasons she should take it all back.

“You can tell me everything or nothing in time, Bucky,” she traces his lips with her fingers. “It seems that, for once, time is on our side.”

As the violet sky above them faded to navy and a fall breeze filtered through open doors—the two of them relived the feeling of hot summer nights from years past and dreamed of a future together that, though far from perfect, would maybe be a little less lonely.


End file.
